It is Thérèse. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. ‘Will you stop hedging? I’m hanged if I go on with this ridiculous cat and mouse game. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other.
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